“Undermining your confidence,” said Trent. “That’s a weak man’s game.”

  “He was weak,” said Marianne. “He’d make me feel stupid so he could look smart, downplay my ideas then claim them for his own. And somehow, I didn’t notice until it was too late. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there was actually a time when I thought Simon was brilliant. I thought I had to work harder to catch up to him. Looking back on it now…”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Trent pulled her into her arms. Marianne clung to him like her new life depended on it. Maybe it did. “And…I get it now,” he added quietly. “Why you need to make it work here no matter what. The Honky-Tonk isn’t just another project for you.”

  “It’s my lifeline.” Marianne buried her face in his chest and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t see…” Trent expelled a long breath that gusted past her ear. “It’s just, you seemed so confident, like you thought you knew it all. Like you didn’t care about Lockhart Bend, or what the town needed. I thought you were on some ego trip, thinking you could succeed where your aunt Celia failed. That pissed me off, and I might’ve—”

  “I get it,” said Marianne. “But I don’t know it all. I just thought—it’s stupid, but I didn’t want to do the same thing I did with Simon, leaning on other folks to show me the way. I felt like I had to do this on my own.”

  “You are doing it.” Trent sat back on his heels and gripped her shoulders, levelling her with a serious look. “Marianne, you’ve accomplished a lot without any help. But one thing you need to know about small towns is nobody’s going to let you do anything on your own. Everyone’s going to stick their nose in your business and have an opinion. But whether or not you give them a say, that’s your choice, and it always has been.”

  Tears pricked at her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t know what to say to him. How could she convey to Trent how happy he had just made her—just by reminding her the final say was still hers? Accepting help didn’t have to mean signing her life away.

  “C’mon.” Trent draped an arm around her shoulder, and she had never felt so safe, so warm. No one had ever made her feel so protected and simultaneously free to be herself. “Let me drive you to the Honky-Tonk. You’ve got a lot to do, right?”

  Marianne wiped her eyes. “My to-do list is a novel.”

  Trent opened the door for her and helped her into his truck. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to shorten that list, all you need to do is whistle, and your dog will come running.”

  “And maybe if he’s good, I’ll give him a treat.”

  Trent leaned into the cab and kissed her breathless, and for that moment, she let her worries drift away. In that moment, she knew it would all be okay.

  13

  TRENT

  The day of the contest was scorching hot, the sky overhead cloudless and blue. Half the town had gathered to watch the fun, along with spectators from miles around. The crowd was enormous, spilling off the Stomper’s huge outdoor dance floor, trampling the grass around the newly built stage. Trent had never seen so many out-of-town faces in the Bend all at once.

  Tables had been set up along the bar’s back wall, so the contestants could let the town sample their entries. Trent hated to admit it, but Marianne’s competition was stiff: sweet ginger cheesecake bites that made him weak in the knees, packaged beef stew that shamed his mama’s. He tried cookies and trail mix and spicy emu jerky, and washed it all down with Marianne’s beer.

  “I’m nervous,” she said, when he swung by her table. “Everything’s so good, I don’t know—”

  “You’ve got this.” Trent laid a calming hand on her arm. “Remember, your business plan counts, and your Q&A. I never met anyone more passionate about their craft than you.”

  “But me and public speaking…” Marianne stopped talking and squared her shoulders. “No, you know what? You’re right. I’ve got this. I’m good.”

  “That’s right,” said Trent. “And I’m rooting for you.”

  The crowd closed in behind him, getting impatient. Trent moved aside to let them grab samples. Everyone looked like they were having a good time—friends, family, and strangers greeting one another with happy slaps on the back. Children ran underfoot, laughing and spilling their sodas on the ground. Knots of eager tasters had formed around every table, but Trent thought Marianne’s table was busiest of all. Maybe partly because she was serving beer on a hot day, but he thought it was more than that. It was her, and her passion.

  “Our Mari’s killing it,” Sabrina said, elbowing Trent in the ribs. He frowned.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Just got here with Trevor. Charlie and Dylan should be on their way.”

  Trent searched for his brother, but his gaze landed on Marianne instead. She blushed and looked away, returning to her admirers.

  “She’ll win,” said Sabrina. “I can feel it. She has to. And even if she doesn’t—”

  “None of that talk.” Trent stood up straighter as the judges took the stage. He didn’t like the look of the one on the left, a thin, greasy kid with a permanently sour expression on his face. The other two looked friendlier, an older man and woman. The woman reached for her mic, and tapped it for silence.

  “Welcome to Revel Organics’ yearly star search,” she said, when the crowd had subsided. “We’re all so excited about this year’s entries—I don’t think we’ve ever had a more delicious selection. But only one product can be our yearly fresh pick, so, contestants? Are you ready to sell us your wares?”

  A ragged cheer went up, along with a few nervous laughs. The judge smiled warmly and checked her clipboard.

  “Okay, first up, we have Marianne Stanton. Her entry is the Honky-Tonk Brewpub’s flagship ale, Wildhorse Rose.”

  Sabrina let out a giggle, but Trent’s breath caught. Had Sabrina and Marianne worked together to come up with that name? Wildhorse, like his home, and the heart of Lockhart Bend?

  “That’s me.” Marianne stepped up to the judges’ table, smiling wide and bright. If she was scared, she didn’t let it show. “This refreshing pale ale is not only delicious, it’s my tribute to this town, and the wonderful people in it. It’s flavored with organic ingredients grown here in the Bend, brewed up with love and dedicated to fresh starts. I’ll be serving it at the Honky-Tonk starting tomorrow, and I soon hope to be selling it through Revel Organics.”

  “She’s amazing,” said Trent, louder than he’d meant to. The crowd murmured with amusement at his honest reaction. Maybe he was only imagining it, but he thought he saw several knowing looks exchanged. He wouldn’t put it past some of the more intuitive locals to have already caught on to him and Marianne.

  The questions started up then, and Trent’s body tensed. He could see Marianne was feeling the pressure as well, fidgeting with her shirt sleeve as she led her Q&A. Despite her discomfort, she rose to the occasion, describing how she’d chosen the flavors for her flagship ale: rosemary and sage for her aunt Celia, who’d always kept an herb garden at the back of her house. Oatmeal in tribute to the ranchers who made the Bend what it was, and a hint of caramel for home sweet home.

  “You were incredible,” he said, when her turn was done. “Did you mean all of that, about how you picked the flavors?”

  “I did,” she said. “I’ve never meant anything more. This place is starting to feel a whole lot like home.”

  Trent hardly listened to the remaining Q&As. He couldn’t imagine anyone outdoing Marianne’s passion, or the thought she’d put into her flagship brew. And it was delicious, which had to count for a lot.

  “And that was our final contestant,” the head judge said as the presentations wrapped up. “We’ll need a few minutes to deliberate, then we’ll announce the results.” Trent slid his arm around Marianne’s waist, already grinning from ear to ear. He had no doubts about what would happen next.

  “It’s yours,” he told Marianne. “I feel it deep down.”

  She turned to him, biting her lip. “You really think so? I—”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Stanton?” A man with a clipboard had come up beside Marianne. “If you wouldn’t mind, the judges need to see you backstage.”

  Marianne went a shade paler. “The judges…what?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”

  Marianne’s panicked gaze landed on Trent. He took her arm.

  “I’m coming with her.”

  “If you’ll come this way, then.” He led them around behind the wooden stage, to a small table that had been set up for the judges. All three of them were frowning. The head judge cleared her throat.

  “Ms. Stanton, uh…” She glanced at Trent. “It’s come to our attention, ah… As you know, our fresh pick contract comes with a spokesperson role, and as our spokesperson, you’re expected to…” She glanced at the younger judge, who was scratching his neck. “There’s a morality clause, and you—Well, see for yourself. Our head office got this e-mail, and it doesn’t look good.” She turned her laptop toward Marianne. Marianne stared for a moment, then let out a gasp.

  “That’s—how did you—”

  Trent leaned in to see, and his stomach turned over. There, on the screen, was the Honky-Tonk bar, and Marianne up against it, Trent’s hand on her breast.

  “Some creeper took that,” he exclaimed, outraged. “We were on private property—we didn’t do anything immoral. Whoever sent you those pictures invaded our privacy. Punishing Marianne—”

  “Normally, we’d agree,” said the head judge. “But that’s not your home. That’s a business with windows that look out on Main Street. Children play out there. People walk by. Anyone could have seen you, and that’s not…that’s—”

  “It’s a sign of poor judgment,” said the younger judge. “We’re going to need you to withdraw from the contest.”

  Trent turned to Marianne. Her face wasn’t rosy, the way it usually got when someone put her on the spot and she wasn’t prepared for it. She was white as a sheet and staring inward at something he couldn’t save her from.

  Like hell he couldn’t.

  “This isn’t right,” Trent heard himself say. “You could just pick another winner. You don’t have to humiliate her, just because—”

  “We need to distance this contest from any hint of scandal. It’s huge publicity for us, and it gets bigger every year. If these pictures become public, we need to be able to show we took the appropriate measures. In this case, it’ll be easiest if Marianne just withdraws. If she doesn’t, she’ll be disqualified. You can have a moment to talk it over, but—”

  “No,” said Trent.

  “Fine,” said Marianne. Her voice had gone toneless. She stood like a statue, her blue eyes dull. “Fine, I withdraw. Do I need to sign something?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then we’re done.” Marianne turned on her heel and marched away. Trent caught her arm, but she shook him off.

  “Wait, Marianne—”

  “No, I mean it, I’m done. I was stupid to think I stood a chance. I should never have let you talk me into all this.”

  Trent’s jaw dropped. “Marianne!”

  “This is what happens when I let down my guard. This, every time. Every time, I get clobbered. I’m not blaming you. I’m the one who knew better. But this, this is over, my dream. All of it.”

  “And us?” Trent strode after her, anger rising. “You’re giving up on us too, and all it takes is one setback?”

  “This isn’t a setback. This is—”

  “This is you giving up. I’d have fought for you forever, but you’re just giving up.” Trent scowled, disgusted. “I thought we had something, but I guess we didn’t if you’d give up that easy.”

  “I guess we didn’t,” repeated Marianne. She kept walking away, and this time, Trent let her.

  14

  MARIANNE

  For a day that had started so perfect, the contest had ended in unmitigated disaster. Everyone had stared at her as she walked away, and they’d whispered, and she thought she’d heard a laugh. Worst of all, Trent had looked at her as if she’d slapped him in the face. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him—she’d never wanted that—but what was left for them, with her plans all in ruins? She hadn’t just lost the contest. Simon was here. She was sure of it now—those photos smacked of his brand of cruelty. He’d always loved to humiliate her and make her feel small. Well, now she felt tiny, and low as a worm.

  “Congratulations,” she muttered, as she drove away. “It’s over. You win. Does that make you happy?”

  She wanted to jump into bed and never get out. Crawl into a bottle and sink to the bottom. Throw herself into Trent’s arms and hide from the world, but she couldn’t do that, because she’d blown that up. She thumped her fist on the steering wheel, wishing she could take it all back.

  She could still turn around, but what if she did? If she went back to Trent, what would Simon do then? He’d punish her for it, that’s what he’d do, and he wouldn’t stop till her reputation in Lockhart Bend was in tatters. All the goodwill she had worked for—all the respect she’d earned, building her dream—it would all come crashing down around her ears. She couldn’t have her fresh start, and she couldn’t have Trent.

  She sped off like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

  She had never been so mortified in all her life.

  You let a man get in the way of your success, an awful voiced hissed in the back of her head. You could’ve lived here in peace, but you listened to Trent. You let him convince you his way was best, and look where it’s landed you, back in the shit.

  What had she been thinking, listening to Trent? Letting him help her—some help that had been! She had let him invade her place of work. Let him—begged him—to take her, gasping and moaning, in a moment of weakness. In the moment, their coupling had felt like shared bliss. Now her memory of their lovemaking left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Marianne went to the Honky-Tonk instead of heading home. She didn’t want Trent to come knocking at her door. She didn’t want him not to. She’d die if he came home and just went inside, and forgot all about her and went on with his life. Besides, she still had prep to do for…what? Her grand opening? She couldn’t hold it, not now. What point would there be? No one would come—at least, not once Simon got through tearing her apart.

  She sat at the bar with her head in her hands. She’d pictured this place filled up with laughter—folks eating and drinking and listening to live music. Memories being made, the town coming together. None of that would happen now, because—

  “Miss Stanton?”

  Marianne lifted her head. A man with thick-rimmed glasses and a beer aficionado’s paunch was peeking in the door. He smiled, and his friendliness seemed genuine enough. “Whatever happened at that contest, if you ask me, you were robbed.”

  “Thanks,” said Marianne. “But everyone’s entries were pretty great. Whoever wins, they’ll deserve it.” She reached for a cloth and started wiping the bar, hoping the stranger would take the hint and leave. He came in, instead, and let the doors close behind him.

  “You’re more graceful than I would be in your shoes. But whatever trouble you’ve had here, I just wanted to congratulate you. You knocked it out of the park. Wildhorse Rose is the best beer I’ve tried this year, and let me tell you, I’ve tried a whole lot of beers.” He patted his paunch.

  Marianne set down her cloth and studied his face. “You’re from Colorado, aren’t you? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  The man nodded. “You might have. I’m Lucas Swallow, of Swallow’s Swill. I used to eat at your place when you were in Denver.” He extended his hand and Marianne shook it. “I have to admit, it’s a surprise seeing you down here. You just dropped off the map when your old place closed.”

  Marianne smiled politely, waiting for him to stop talking. Lucas sat down instead, and leaned across the bar.

  “It must be fate, running into you here. I just had a brew master position open up at Swallow’s Swill. It’d be up in Seattle, at my new plant, but I couldn’t head up there without at least asking.” Lucas withdrew his wallet and smoothly flipped her his card. “If there’s any chance you’d be interested, please get in touch. But don’t wait too long—I need to hire someone this month.”

  Marianne stared at him. Seattle—that was far. Maybe just far enough that Simon wouldn’t find her. One more fresh start, maybe that was what she needed. “Your timing couldn’t be better,” she said. “I was just thinking about making a change.”

  “Marianne!”

  She turned, surprised, as Trent marched up the steps. Lucas nodded to her in farewell. “Looks like you’ve got company, but my number’s on my card. I’m headed to Seattle tonight, and I’ll be there all month. Give me a ring if you want to stop in.”

  Lucas turned and left, and Trent barged right in.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His handsome face was contorted in misery. He looked so distressed that Marianne wanted nothing more than to jump up and wrap her arms around his neck, but she resisted the urge. Her life here was over. No sense fighting it.

  “Who was that guy?” said Trent. “He offer you a job?”

  Marianne winced at his perceptiveness and quickly tucked Lucas’s business card away. “He…did offer to show me around his brewery in Seattle. And I think I might go. I think—”

  “You’re leaving? You can’t.” Trent sagged where he stood. “Marianne, I came here because I hate how we left things. If you don’t want to be with me, I can try to understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. But Lockhart Bend still needs you, and—”

  “It’s too late, Trent,” Marianne said. “I’ve been screwing up ever since I got here, going against my instincts, making a mess. Maybe it’s better for me to go for something easy.”